


Red & Gold

by AideStar



Category: Undertale
Genre: Angst, Freeform, Panic Attack, Suicide, abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:49:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AideStar/pseuds/AideStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been here before, you know what happens next. You die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red & Gold

**Author's Note:**

> First post on AO3, repost from my fanfic.net acct! Please kudo and comment!!

Your fists clenched with your heart as you stared down the grey hall after him. His large frame filled the room, but somehow seemed just as small as yours, and at that moment you knew he was just as scared as you. Your feet plant themselves in the ground as he marches forward through the dark archway.

You've been here before. You know what happens next. You die.

Not because you're weak. Or maybe it is that. He destroys your mercy against your will, rips your greatest weapon from you, and leaves you holding the old knife. When had you even picked it up? A cold voice inside you whispers that it looks fitting in your hands. You nearly drop it.

Eyes unfocused, you turn a different corner, unwilling to feel so helpless again. To die by his gentle hands. To fight. The corridor stretches before you one moment and the next you're in a light room.

Your eyes lazily drift to the boxes to your left. They're very colorful in this grey world. You wonder when the last time you saw real color was. An image of a skeleton smiling, painted gold flashes through your mind and you grip the hilt harder.

Your hands shake as you peer into the coffin. You're not a child anymore, though moments ago you felt like one. This is where the dead come to rest.

You feel so tired.

The next thing you know you're clambering into the too-high chamber, leaning back. It's hard but also soft, and you feel the weight of all you've done and all you've seen settle into your shoulders. What are you doing?

In an instant you're climbing that mountain again. Screw reason, screw life. You were never made to survive, and the way your feet drag goes to prove this. The yawning cave excepts you eagerly, and you, with just as much vigor, stumble forward.

Your hands tremble, but you grip your stick-your knife-and you slowly drag it closer to you. The metal, the bark, rubs against your shirt, and it reminds you of why you came here. The bruises on your neck, the scars on your arms, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol that clings to you still. In the damp cave you let out a shaky breath, and feel the sharp blade graze your chest. You shiver, wether from the cold or the fear you don't know, but the echoes of every hateful word that's been said to you reminds you why you hate yourself and why you've tried to throw your life away.

You stare into the deep pit, and it stares back. You smile. You plunge the blade into your chest, and you fall into the hole, and the world is black and deep and comforting. And warm and. Now you're falling, or floating, and your stick is so close to you it could be part of you. Your breath is ripped away in the dark, and the wind begins to chill your very soul.

It's black, it's red, it's grey and cold and lonely, it's gold and fake, and it's all so colorful. You're tired. You're through. You can't see anything but black and red, and your body is slow and you're falling down. Down. Down.

You jolt, gasping for breath, and the scent of flowers clogs your nose. All you can see is gold. This time it's real, and your breaths tear through you and you sputter and cough and cry because you're back at the beginning, but that means you have another chance. A chance to do even better. A chance to earn a life that doesn't expire.

You grip your stick and stand.


End file.
